A List of Things to Draw

Everything in your kitchen cupboard 

All the spices you can think of labelled in cool little jars

Flowers

A fat cat, a skinny cat, a striped one, a polka-dotted one…

Clouds (Look up.)

Everything on your table, in your pocket, under your bed

Circles

Fruits and vegetables

The steps to making coffee

A map from your home to the closest mailbox

Everything against your most northern wall in your home

A bird’s eye view of the room you’re in

Things meant for sitting on: chairs, stools, picnic tables, benches

All the brushes in your home

Cutlery

“Mama, can you play with me?”

“Not just yet. Mama’s drawing you.”

Simone, five, is in the sandbox about five feet away. I’m sitting on our favourite bench at the café on Ward’s Island.

I can never get her huge brown eyes right. They look cartoon-like when I try to capture them. I once heard that to draw someone’s eyes, it’s best to look at them upside down. As I stand behind her looking down, I ask her to look up at me. Ah, that’s better.  

I am now doodling on her foot as she eats ice cream, giggling. It’s ticklish. Soon she is drawing a collection of flowers on my foot and I am (briefly) considering a tattoo.

I draw what’s right in front of me—the tea pot, the veins on a leaf, a pair of scissors. Sometimes I draw the same thing over and over until I am pleased with what I’ve captured. With satisfaction, I eventually figure out the tricky angles of hanging laundry. 

I am a slow drawer as if pencil and paper come together to demand snail-like movement. My sessions are short, usually about as long as my coffee lasts. I pay close attention to my subject. This low-stakes focus slows my mind and stills my body. 

On the subway, in line, at the park, I capture small moments. My sketchbook reads like a journal. I record the way I see the world. There’s no need to scream it from the rooftop. It’s all here. My truth—solid and quiet in this sketchbook.